J. Donleavy: A Singular Man

"Yesh. I grew them that way. And by the way I better tell you now I say y e s, yesh. Said it that way right from the time I began saying it. Some people get the idea I'm trying to be coy."

"O.K. Miss Tomson, it's all right with me. Look forward seeing you Monday."

"Yesh."

So when Monday came. Miss Tomson came. But with an elk hound which she tied to the desk. I came in. Saw the animal. A man killer for sure. Miss Tomson said good morning in true secretary fashion and I simply did not have the words ready to deal with the situation. Especially the inhuman growl and lurchment of Miss Tom-son's desk in my direction to which the vast creature lay tethered. I nipped back behind the frosted glass of my office for a moment's refreshment, picked up a letter which lay waiting and which put my bowels in a further state and my hand through what I thought would be soon thinning hair. Gingerly out again to say something like a foolish remark. Does it bark and what does it eat Miss Tomson. Whoosh. Clack. Those were the teeth. This animal again tried to get me. As the pleasantry failed and I made it back again behind the vulnerable glass. From where I ventured voice only.

"Miss Tomson, the dog."

"Yesh."

'Will we be seeing it every morning."

"Do you want to. Got a cute name. Goliath. Goli for short. He's like a lion. Sorry he tried to get you. But he doesn't know you yet. Goliath say good morning to Mr.

Smith, that shadow behind the glass, go on, Goli, Mr. Smith isn't going to bite you."

That Monday George Smith stood aloof and aghast. Humming. Whispering up to Jesus Christ is there no justice. As Miss Tomson sensed the sorrow of the sheepish shadow.

"Mr. Smith, you didn't think I was going to bring Goli to work with me every morning, did you."

"Miss Tomson, I have a vivid imagination, likely to believe anything."

"Well why didn't you say so Mr. Smith. Goli is just on his way to the boarding kennel. Didn't have room this morning. Raw steak is his dish. Rump. Thought you wouldn't mind. It's going to be your first time away from me, Goli, and you mustn't eat Mr. Smith. Our new boss."

Again aghast that Monday. Mostly because Miss Tom-son's tender reference caught me in the breast. Tuesday Goliath was chained in the boarding kennel one hoped with his dish of rump. Wednesday he had his checkup at the Animal Medical Center and as I passed that place in the morning I fancied I could hear his growl as he chewed up other little doggies. And confess I chuckled at this tasty vision. Growling hysterically myself further on as I stepped straight into dogshit. A half hour on the park bench digging it out of the corrugated soles I wear for nonskid agility.

That midweek morning Miss Tomson had been quick to notice the lurking stink. She sniffed, and fanned herself with a sheet of typing paper, and cleared her throat. When Saturday afternoon arrived I sat lonely collapsed and futureless, staff gone home, cigar store across the street barred and dark. I went and looked on Miss Tom-son's desk. The bleak expanse. Picked up her pencils and memorized the brand over and over. I repaired the electric plug of her lamp, battening the wires good-o with a screwdriver thinking of the juice that would go through these very copper threads to give her light. God forbid the passing risqu6 thought as I slipped in the male plug for die electrical connection.

And a later Monday after a little shopping at the haberdasher round the corner on the previous Saturday, I came in wearing a narrow brimmed hat.

"That's better."

"What do you mean, Miss Tomson."

"That hat. Ifs a slight improvement. Don't ever wear that other thing again, Mr. Smith, it just doesn't suit you or anything you're trying to be."

"O."

"And if you don't mind, just let me give you a tip. Don't take this wrong. But don't wear that green tie with that green shirt, but that's not bad what you're wearing, not bad."

"Thanks."

"Sure."

Uncontrollably I rushed into my office. Stood there behind the door. Taking a deep breath. Unable to catch it. Then sitting at my desk with the hat on as the first letters and papers come in.

"Hey Air. Smith that hat. Is it for real, really. Or on approval."

"We could discuss that later Miss Tomson."

"Osure."

I locked the door after her. Being bullied by good taste is not exactly my dish. When we get to know each other better, let's see the underwear, Smith. The hat was only to take off in a situation where there was nothing else to do. Chap in the shop said this is what they're wearing. Who are they. Awkward to say I am not them. But the burning words, anything you're trying to be. I took my paper shears and dumbfounded by my own dexterity, reduced the hat to pieces and parts. Packaged it neatly. Addressing it elsewhere. And had to let Miss Tomson back in to mail it.

"Mr. Smith just one more thing, if you don't mind. I've got an interest in you, I want to see you make it Don't get the idea I'm trying to meddle in your affairs but the shoes. The color is definitely too light."

But as well in those initial weeks of Miss Tomson's employ she was reassuring over some of the letters which shook George Smith's timbers with intimidation. Miss Tomson would take one look at them and say they're kidding.

"Besides, Mr. Smith, they couldn't do this to you even though they tried. You've got to know when people are bluffing, don't get the idea that because you tell the truth so are they. By the way, you got a license for a gun."

And late one afternoon at Thirty Three Golf Street when the cigar shop man was bringing in the statue of his redskin chained outside his store, and the lights were flicking off high up, and Smith with a warm feeling like the sad taste of goodbye, looked up as Miss Tomson was leaving his office.

"Miss Tomson."

"Yesh."

"Miss Tomson, don't mind my asking you a question."

"No."

"It's about you."

"Sure, what about me."

"Why were you out looking for a job when you came to me."

"I got jilted."

"I don't want to pry into anything as personal as that."

"Sure pry if you want."

'Well, if I might perhaps ask were you terribly hurt by this."

"Let's say I was amazed by it."

"O."

"I was the cheapest thrill he was ever likely to get in his life."

"Please don't feel you have to tell me more. I'm surprised you were jilted."

"Well I wasn't really. Some guy started writing me poems and I thought they were kind a cute. So the guy I'm giving the cheapest thrill he was ever likely to get which was costing him a fortune I admit, hears of this and said get rid of this poetic curiosity and I said no. And then he asked for the gold key back."

"I take it, Miss Tomson, this gold key was to a nest somewhere."

"Nice way to put it Mr. Smith but it didn't have a cosy quality."

"Pardon me for using your jiltor's reference, but what happened to the poetic curiosity."

"He left. I used to feed him and drive him around in the car the jiltor gave me as a present. When I gave the jiltor the car back, the poetic curiosity took off south where he said it was warmer."

"Although I don't want to suggest this if you think otherwise, the poetic curiosity was really the jiltor."

"Yesh, put it that way. But he used to give me laughs."

"I see."

"Do crazy things like taking an orange and tying it to the cat's tail. He was full of deals too to make lots of money until he said he didn't have time to think if I wasn't able to support him. He was like you in some ways, had no taste at all/'

And hatless George Smith would go home. Out of the dark shadows of Golf Street to die lighted highway streaming with cars. A little pedestrian bridge to stand over watching them zoom by underneath.